


Shine On Me In Darkness

by Rens_Knight



Series: In the Burning of the Light [13]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-09 17:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12893268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rens_Knight/pseuds/Rens_Knight
Summary: Darth Imperius, still known to those he loves as Tarssus Kallig, meets with the Emperor's Wrath--a man who, despite his formal title, turns out to have far more in common with Imperius than even the Sith Emperor himself realizes.





	Shine On Me In Darkness

Today was to be my last on Dromund Fels for the time being.  A homecoming that should have been filled with rejoicing had instead been marked with great sorrow.  And a parting that should have come with the embrace of my father instead ended with the hanging of a funeral tapestry on my shipboard office wall.  It seemed awfully dissonant--as did so many things about all that had transpired since the Sith Academy came for me--that before my departure from my homeworld, I still had _business_ to conduct.  
  
At any other time, a private audience with the recently-appointed Emperor's Wrath, the personal enforcer of the Immortal Emperor of the Sith, would have been _the_ watershed event of my visit.  Now, after commending my father's spirit to that which lay beyond, the thought of the encounter felt strangely anticlimactic.  
  
I had seen the Emperor's Wrath addressing the Dark Council by holocomm in intricate, armored robes, his face hidden beneath a mask with even fewer hints of humanoid features than that of Lord Aloysius.  What I had been instructed, by hand-couriered communiqué, to expect today at Imperial Reclamation Service Base Aurek, would be quite different.  
  
The great irony of a masked Sith Lord's guise is that if he desires true anonymity, in some cases his simplest solution to move unnoticed might well be to remove his mask and move about the people as his true self.  The Sith Pureblood who entered the conference room accompanied by a young Twi'lek and an Imperial officer, wore simple, red-trimmed black robes that seemed almost Jedi in their restraint, or perhaps the garb of a newly-minted apprentice.  With his distinctive dual sabers tucked out of sight beneath his cloak, there remained very little to suggest this rather fine-featured man, by the standards of his species, in fact outranked me and everyone else on the Dark Council.  
  
By all rights, this should have ranked as an incredibly dangerous encounter for a man of my position, short only of coming face-to-face with the Emperor's Voice, something that the Wrath was rumored to have actually done.  And even more so, ordinarily, to face the Wrath as a heretic, even a secret one.  But if Lord Aloysius was right about him, there promised to be something more to the Emperor's Wrath--something that, if true, would prove a grand miracle that the Emperor and his other servants had failed to detect.  
  
Even so, I had insisted on meeting in the territory of my Sphere, made sure to arrive first, and established our distance at the other end of the long table.  The Wrath's mastery of the saber was unequivocally the better of me.  If something were to go wrong in spite of our best hopes, I needed the time and distance to build up a lightning charge to repel him before he could close to sabers' range.  
  
Of course, my beloved Ashara was _also_ my better at the art of the saber, and that made two Force-wielders to the Wrath's one--himself.  Not only was Ashara a master of _Jar'kai_ , the art of dual saber wielding, but she was _also_ my willing eyes and ears in the Force world of the living.  Though I had, over time, formed connections between myself and those who were family, enough to sense their presence as I imagined most Force-users would, my sense of the rest was, by their reckoning, thickly clouded.  I had never known anything different, of course, so I had learnt to maximize the gifts I had, but there _had_ been those unpleasant incidents, like my inability to sense the manipulative duplicity of the Jedi Nomar Organa until he had sprung his trap.  Thus in an encounter of this magnitude, I valued not just the love and the intellect that Ashara brought to the table, but also her sight in the Force.  
  
Not that those without the command of the Force were to be lightly dismissed, of course.  It was Talos, for one, who had the knowledge and skill to sweep the room for recording devices and any other illicit gadgetry...not a skill popularly associated with archaeology, which many fancied to be a primitive art.  But when one considered the intricacies of mapping ancient derelict starships and the tombs of the Lords of the first interstellar Sith Empire, it suddenly became far easier to understand why an archaeologist of the Empire would need to know how to disarm a whole host of unpleasant technological surprises.  
  
Now, the time had come to learn the truth of the Emperor's Wrath, for better or for worse.  "We have incoming," Ashara said, glancing down the hall--or more accurately, seeming to gaze _through_ the wall at were the Wrath and his entourage had to be.  It was another minute or so before the trio actually arrived.  
  
As the Sith Pureblood approached, I bowed my head in honor of his rank and greeted him with, " _Zhelosa, ventiliyottoi_."  The words were Ancient Sith for _well met, cousin_.  For that was what our species were to each other: though perhaps the alchemists should not have intervened as they had, their work had made the Sith Purebloods into a hybrid of the old race and humanity...cousins indeed, and to the best of my knowledge, the only ones of their lineage who remained.  It was believed that over three quarters of the humans of the Sith Empire already bore at least a few of their genetic markers.  And this, some experts believed, would eventually bring an end to the Purebloods, their remaining numbers absorbed into those of humanity.  But what was done was done.  For now, I felt it right that we honor each other.  
  
As for the Wrath--he suddenly broke into a wide grin.  " _Aqkh, zhelosa, ventiliyottoi!  Tsisbyloti qu?_ "  
  
"Not well, I'm afraid, other than certain things I've memorized," I replied, switching to Basic.  "Though I should _very_ much like to learn for myself, and not just by rote or talisman."  
  
"There aren't many outside our clans who learn our language anymore," the Wrath commented.  "I was raised bilingual, but even amongst ourselves it seems the practice is fading.  Even so, some of us have this notion that the Old Tongue shouldn't be taught to outsiders."  At that, the Pureblood did something I had not expected...there's no putting it delicately: he _snorted_.  "I've known some of those.  All the more reason for me _to_ direct you to some of the best materials, if you ask _me_ , even if just to imagine the looks on their faces if they knew."  
  
"Certainly, do feel free to send your recommendations," I found myself agreeing before I had truly had time to process the strange turn the opening of our dialogue had taken.  
  
The Emperor's Wrath chortled to himself as it dawned on _him_.  "I seem to have forgotten to even introduce myself!  Call me Rûmaz.  I already know _you_ , Darth Imperius, well enough that I should have known the easiest way to get nothing of what we _planned_ done is to dangle some sort of new knowledge in front of you, to bat at like a tooka toy!"  
  
"Better a tooka toy than a tuk'ata toy, if you know what I mean," quipped the cyan-skinned Twi'lek at Rûmaz' right in a broad Republic accent.  Considering the size and ferocity of the Sith hellhounds I'd had the misfortune of having to deal with on Korriban, I found myself rather inclined to agree with her assessment.  
  
The slender, black-haired Imperial officer at Rûmaz' left huffed a haughty sigh.  " _Really_ , Vette--this is a _Dark Councillor_ \--have you not even the _slightest_ shred of decorum?"  
  
The Twi'lek rolled her eyes.  "Oh, get off it already, Malavai; _he_ doesn't seem to mind--"  
  
If things had been straying off the beaten path before, now they had truly veered into the wilderness.  Out the corner of my eye I could see Ashara cutting a befuddled look over at Talos, who replied with a short, baffled shrug of his own.  As for me, I softly cleared my throat.  "Perhaps a few more introductions would be in order?"  
  
The Imperial officer--Malavai?--smirked for an instant, and for some reason I felt I ought to be rather amazed that the Twi'lek had managed not to stick her tongue out at him behind Rûmaz' back.  The Wrath gave a rather conspicuous show of noticing this as he said, "Darth Imperius, please let me introduce my wife, Vette."  
  
His wife?  I felt a wash of conflicting emotions at that declaration.  First, a discomfiting reminder of Darth Malgus, who had hidden his own relationship with an enslaved Twi'lek until, fearing it a weakness, he had slaughtered the one he had counted as his lover.  Yet here was Rûmaz declaring his marriage openly before me, a Dark Councillor, without hesitation.  But second...and stronger...I felt a pang of something I could only label as jealousy.  Not the sort that wished the collapse of their love--far from it--but that yearned for the day when my own beloved might feel freed enough of the Jedi to ask for my hand in marriage, and wondered yet again if that day might never come.  
  
For my part, I offered a polite smile and said, "Pleased to meet you."  
  
Rûmaz offered a far more formal, reserved sort of introduction for the Imperial officer.  "Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, tactician and strategist."  
  
Quinn knelt to one knee...though was it me, or was he giving an odd, narrow-eyed sort of stare towards Talos, as he observed this strict military protocol of introduction to a Councillor?  I was getting a discomfiting sense about the dynamics between the man and the others around him; I tried reaching out in the Force to see if I could pick up any impressions, and found him even more inscrutable than I typically did a living being without the enhanced presence of a Force-wielder.  I made a mental note to seek Ashara's perspective later.  "Lieutenant Quinn," I acknowledged simply as I bade him rise.  
  
I turned then to Ashara.  "This is my beloved confidant, and advisor on matters of Force lore, Ashara Zavros."  
  
"And fellow _Jar'kai_ practitioner," Rûmaz noted, indicating the dual sabers that hung at her sides.  
  
"Yes, sir!"  She beamed with pride.  The edges of my own lips quirked up at that as well: when I had first taken her on, Ashara likely would have tacked on the sort of boast in her skills that might draw the attention of a Sith Lord eager to take a Togruta down a peg or two--perhaps even permanently.  
  
Glancing to other side I continued, "Talos Drellik is my brother and advisor on Imperial and Sith history, and the operations of the Imperial Reclamation Service."  Vette took this in stride, but both Rûmaz and Lieutenant Quinn seemed to do a double take at that.  
  
Talos bowed.  "Pleased to make your acquaintance, milord."  
  
"'Rûmaz' is just fine," said the Sith Pureblood.  
  
An instant of silence came over the room.  Rûmaz' wife quickly jumped in to fill it, counting on her fingers as she summarized.  "Two mighty Lords of the Sith--check.  Two lovely lekku ladies--check.  Two Imperial officers--sorta check.  Am I missing anybody?"  After a beat, Vette concluded, "Three pair.  I'm pretty sure that's a winning hand at... _something_."  Talos couldn't stifle a small chortle.  If I didn't already know better, I would have assumed he was starting to fancy her.  Which, of course, didn't stop him from fancying her quick wit.  
  
"Well.  Now that we've taken stock of each other," Rûmaz said, placing his hands palm-to-palm, "on to the reason I requested to meet with you.  As you know, this is a personal matter of sorts.  My sister-in-law Tivva is seeking employment, and given some of the more precarious positions people of the...non-Imperial species tend to wind up in, my wife and I would feel far more comfortable knowing that she was affiliated with _your_ Sphere than any other.  I know you reward merit as I do."  
  
I nodded my affirmation.  "I think it a complete waste of talent to do otherwise.  Now...what sort of position did you have in mind?"  
  
"Hm...that's where I'm afraid I may have to defer to experience, with all due respect.  You see," Rûmaz continued, "my sister-in-law is not that long out of slavery."  
  
" _And_ also 'not that long out of' a bad relationship with some old Moff Creepy," Vette added, putting on a cartoonish Imperial accent as she quoted her husband.  "I knew _that_ wasn't going to last long, but does she ever listen to me _before_ she goes and gets in trouble?  Noooooo..."  
  
Malavai Quinn visibly bristled at the epithet 'Moff Creepy.'  I'd seen Talos take offense to unflattering descriptions of the military--that is, assuming he found them undeserved--especially coming from Andronikos.  But never had I witnessed anything between them like _this_ , off of the _Fury_.  And even then, theirs seemed more a case of aggravation at disparate worldviews than anything.  There just didn't seem to be the degree of _personal_ animus between Talos and Andronikos, that seemed to exist between Quinn and Vette.  If this was how the two got on with each other in a relatively formal situation, I could only pity Rûmaz for having to put up with the bickering on a full-time basis.  I wondered if he kept them on opposite schedules aboard ship.  If I had not already learnt from Lord Aloysius that a potentially even more serious concern existed amongst the crew of the _Inferno_ , I would have thought this to be Rûmaz' greatest internal risk.  I longed all the more to ply Ashara later for her impressions of both.  
  
Rûmaz, for his part, forged ahead.  "The trouble is...she hasn't had that much time to acquire skills for a job outside of her slavery.  And the places where her current skills might translate most immediately--"  
  
"Too damn close to _being_ slavery, just with a little bit of a wage to put on the bruises," Vette grumbled--one of the first times I'd seen anything from her that looked like _true_ bitterness amidst the quick repartee.  
  
I knew the roles into which our Empire commonly seemed to force Twi'lek women.  I particularly remembered the shock of realizing that in the cantina by the Sith Academy on Korriban, the women that danced there were slaves, even without visible shock collars that would have detracted from their aesthetic in the eyes of the audience.  I'd had no idea, when I went to one of them after her performance, to ask her the secret to twirling her body round so fast without collapsing from dizziness, of her horrid situation.  Not to mention Zenziri's astonishment at my naivete...and the idea that I would have come to her not with a crass proposition, but a genuine inquiry formed out of professional respect.  For I had recognized that day in the cantina a kinship in the art of dance and the art of combat, and with Overseer Harkun doing his damnedest to make sure I received the least and most perfunctory instruction he could manage without incurring the wrath of Darth Zash, I was ready to take inspiration from _any_ source I could, that might provide me with some greater inkling how to survive the Academy.  Including the experience of a lithe chartreuse-skinned Twi'lek dancer.  Thinking back on those early days at the Academy...I could only hope against hope that the little bit of money I'd been able to give Zenziri for her time spent teaching me the fundamentals of the _challel_ dance, had helped her to afford _something_ to better her life, maybe even buy her freedom.  
  
But that still left the question of what someone in Zenziri's or Tivva's shoes was to _do_ once freed.  For Father, at least, I had been able to offer him support to where, had he not taken ill, he could have dedicated himself full time to an education.  Others of us, like Kenosa and I, had skills we could support ourselves with.  If not for being made Sith, I suppose if I had been freed, I could have taken work for a free blacksmith, or perhaps a jeweler or engraver, or some other form of metalworking.  But for someone made to perform, like Zenziri or Tivva, there were just too many other forms of exploitation waiting out there in the galaxy for one trained not out of respect for the dance itself, but for the viewing pleasure of an owner and their patrons.  Someone had to be willing to step up and offer their patience and their will to teach them the skills of a new vocation.  
  
"I believe you're aware of where I came from," I began, looking to Rûmaz and Vette each in turn.  "My emancipation never came with a choice.  I was taken to become Sith, and that was that.  I never truly had to contend with making my own way.  But I do know _something_ of the experience."  
  
I only realized I must have been rubbing the side of my neck when Vette remarked, "Nice to know there are people in high places who actually _know_ what it's like to get shocked if you don't come when you're called!"  Then Vette favored her Pureblood husband with a coquettish, sidelong gaze, and a sly grin.  "Well, I guess there's _one_ more man in high places who gets what that means..."  
  
Ashara seemed to miss Vette's meaning at first, but Talos and Lieutenant Quinn both stared, wide-eyed, at the Twi'lek--Talos shocked and flustered, and Quinn looking positively affronted by Vette's candor.  As for me, what was I to _say_ to that--that the two of them played _games_ with a _shock collar_?  It was just...I wouldn't even _contemplate_ being with Ashara in such a mindset.  We have sung, we have danced--and I couldn't imagine her ever initiating such a thing as Vette intimated.  I couldn't _see_ Rûmaz flushing beneath his crimson skin, but _could_ see his eyes flare wide, mortified.  I had no doubt that if his species shared that response with humans, then he ought to be blushing furiously right about then.  
  
"That is _entirely_ too much information for the nice Darth here!" Rûmaz burst out, sounding almost as if he'd accidentally turned a Force choke against himself.  
  
"Oops," Vette said, slightly--very slightly--chagrined.  
  
Talos tactfully cleared his throat.  "Might I offer a suggestion as to something that might work for Tivva?"  
  
"Of course," Rûmaz replied, all too grateful to return to the primary matter at hand.  
  
"If, of course, it's something she decides she is interested in," Talos began, "the Reclamation Service can always use civilian contractors to assist us in the preservation of artifacts.  That includes both freshly-excavated items, and those that are kept in our vaults and our museums.  There is a precise science behind the work of conservation, but our conservators can't do their work alone.  Most of our conservators' assistants have higher education, but there _have_ been notable instances of motivated individuals with a clever mind learning by apprenticeship."  
  
Vette raised a skeptical eyebrow.  "You mean Tivva would have to touch all that Sithy stuff you guys get into all the time?  I've spent a lot of time in the tombs and running around with Rûmaz, so I guess I've kinda built up a tolerance.  But Tivva?  Nah.  Sounds kinda risky to me.  Not that I'm trying to be ungrateful or anything."  
  
Talos took no offense--in fact, he actually beamed, having been granted the perfect opening for an opportunity to expound upon the full mission of his beloved Service.  "That's a very common misconception when it comes to the work of the Imperial Reclamation Service, that it solely works with Sith artifacts of power.  And believe me, we _do_ train our archaeologists and lead conservators to keep a careful eye out for such things and ensure that they are only handled by elite experts before being turned over to the Sith Order itself.  But a sizeable amount of the work involved in unearthing and preserving the history of the Sith Empire involves artifacts with no Force significance at all.  Some of those artifacts are significant in themselves--others serve to lend valuable context to other pieces, including Sith holocrons and other items that _are_ imbued with the Force.  There's no way we'd be able to reconstruct a faithful picture of our history without them.  What that means for our civilian contractors is that by the time they're brought in, we have a very reasonable assurance that there is no risk of Force-driven side effects.  Not to mention," Talos added with a nod towards me, "under Darth Imperius here, the Imperial Reclamation Service is placing a renewed emphasis on its safety protocols regarding unnecessary civilian exposure to our more dangerous artifacts."  
  
"That _was_ one of the things I was referring to in my accession speech to my Sphere," I added for Rûmaz' benefit.  "But Talos has covered it all quite nicely."  
  
"This sounds pretty interesting," Vette said, "but I've got to be honest about one thing."  
  
"Just _one_?" Lieutenant Quinn muttered under his breath.  
  
The Twi'lek woman tapped the conical protrusion on the side of her head closest to Quinn.  "You know, these may not _look_ like your kind of ears, but they do the job very nicely.  As in, 'I can hear you, Quinn.'"  
  
"Do you mind?" Rûmaz interjected--gently, but the effect was achieved with them both nonetheless.  "There will be plenty of time later for banter and repartee at our leisure."  
  
"Hm.  Yeah...okay...where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Being honest about something."  Vette picked up where she had left off.  "It's pretty obvious this doesn't apply to you, m'lord," she said, looking at me but pointing towards Ashara, "but there are a whole lot of people in the Empire with a real attitude problem towards anyone who's not human or Pureblood.  I mean, sure, conservator's assistant is a big step up from slave dancer or cantina wench, but it still really depends on just how 'up himself' the head conservator turns out to be when it comes to 'aliens.'"  
  
"And _that_ ," I noted with a smile, "is where it helps to make it clear that both the Councillor _and_ the Emperor's Wrath are interested in making sure that nothing untoward should occur."  
  
"Or better yet," Talos kindly interjected, "arranging a situation with someone who has a more progressive attitude.  I know it can seem like those sorts of attitudes are everywhere, but there _are_ some of us who are only interested in work ethic and respect towards the artifacts.  Depending on which world Tivva would like to settle on, a suitable placement can certainly be arranged.  She need only accept, and we'll see to that."  
  
Vette thoughtfully canted her head to the side.  "You know, maybe this _could_ work.  I'll be sure to pass the offer along.  I guess she's supposed to call you, Mr. Drellik?"  
  
Talos nodded.  "Certainly."  
  
"Excellent!" exclaimed the Emperor's Wrath.  "I'm pleased _that's_ settled.  Now...before I get on with our _other_ order of business, are we all _certain_ this room is clear of any bugs, or any other forces that might like to eavesdrop?"  
  
Lieutenant Quinn immediately gave a sharp nod.  "Yes, my lord.  My scans showed no signs of any deviations that would suggest a recording being made.  I am prepared to stake my life upon that if necessary."  
  
Talos added his own vote of confidence.  "I've made a full analysis of the structure, materials, and power flows.  I'm as confident in it as any Sith tomb I've ever entered."  Vette's eyebrows flew up at that one--I could readily imagine how that would have sounded to anyone who didn't know Talos.  He smiled and said, without the slightest trace of arrogance, "I would not enter a tomb unless I were certain I understood the technologies in use and how to defuse them."  
  
I looked towards Ashara, who dipped her head in brief meditation.  "I think we're still in agreement," she said, carefully avoiding any hint that my senses of the living might be clouded.  "I'm not sensing anything out of place either."  
  
"Good."  Rûmaz turned his focus squarely upon me and Ashara.  "My apprentice Jaesa Willsaam has a rather unique ability to determine the alignment of others who command power over the Force.  When she first joined me, this was mainly something she was able to sense in person, but over time she has been able to extend her abilities through the Force over greater distances, to seek out individuals who might be amenable to...alternate approaches to being Sith.  She's been aware of you for quite some time, Apprentice--"  Rûmaz indicated Ashara, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  "But until very recently, when it comes to you, Lord Imperius, we have both wondered, but she's had an extraordinary amount of difficulty when it comes to getting any sort of reading on you at all, let alone a clear fix on your inclination.  Even here, before you...I can't say for sure, based on what I feel, that she would be able to get anything certain.  That is, with the exception of what happened on the night of your accession.  Night by Kaas City reckoning, that is, which is where I believe you were when it happened."  
  
My insides nearly froze.   _No one_ aside from my family, and the five spirits--Lord Ergast, Darth Andru, Lord Zavros, Horak-mul, and my own ancestor, Lord Aloysius--knew about the ritual of Light that I had performed in my antechamber on Dromund Kaas, the one by which I had helped the four spirits I had bound, and, unknowingly, Lord Aloysius, to find redemption and freedom.  And for good reason: if Darth Aruk--if _anyone_ found out that I had done something so seemingly antithetical to Sithdom, and worse, actually _succeeded_ at it, there was no doubt.  Whether immediately or by slow torture, I and everyone who associated closely with me would be executed for heresy.  
  
"Just _what_ exactly do you think happened that night?" I demanded.  "And who else have you shared this with?"  
  
" _No one_ , other than Vette.  And Lieutenant Quinn."  The Imperial officer bowed his head in a quiet, deferential gesture whose significance I could not entirely read.  "As to what happened...we're not entirely sure," Rûmaz confessed.  "For my own part, I never sensed it for myself; whatever it was, it was transient, and quite possibly only apparent in the Force to the specially attuned, such as Jaesa.  Add to that, she was in active meditation at the time.  I'd tasked her to it--the potential of a Dark Councillor I could actually count on as an ally in this...that was something I _had_ to be certain about.  She was directly attuned to you when it happened.  She described the incident as a brilliant flare of Light that burst out as if from nowhere, and faded back into nothing as soon as it was over.  The one thing Jaesa was certain of is that _you_ were directly at the center of it."  
  
"I unbound the ghosts whose power I channeled against Thanaton," I replied, leaving my response at that.  
  
Rûmaz grinned, seeing straight through my maneuver.  "Whatever you are, you _are_ truly an Inquisitor at heart, Imperius.  Seeking to draw out the extent of what I know before you tip your _pazaak_ hand?"  
  
"Am I _that_ transparent?" I muttered, chagrined.  
  
"No, actually I would describe you as quite opaque for the most part," Rûmaz quipped with a levity that I suspected disguised a certain degree of discomfort.  "The Force around you certainly is; that's for sure."  It was only after this--the second time that Rûmaz had alluded to difficulty sensing me within the Force--that I realized that aside from Ashara, who still refused to take up the title, that Rûmaz was the only Sith Lord to admit  that fact directly to me.  Even Xalek, my official apprentice, had yet to broach the subject to me, and he _had_ to have recognized it by now, as no path through the haze had developed between me and him.  I doubted he realized that separation between me and the rest of the living worked in both directions, causing me to rely on more conventional means of understanding those around me, for the most part.  Given that, for Rûmaz to openly admit this to me, that he had so little way to gauge my power or sense forewarning of my actions, for a Sith Lord, was a rather stunning act of trust.  
  
I offered no answer to that, however.  The very fact that he had spoken it before me was more than enough.  "Like I said, I'm not entirely sure what exactly it was you were doing," Rûmaz continued, "though I can't imagine that an unbinding would be enough to explain the sheer extent of what my apprentice described to me.  You don't have to tell me exactly what you did, but I _did_ want to warn you in case someone like Aruk decides to delve too deeply into the Force at the wrong time, that you might yet stand the risk of being detected if you summon up something with _that_ much Light power again."  
  
"I can't explain it to you because I myself don't have a full understanding of all happened that night," I admitted to Rûmaz.  "But I shall certainly take your warning under _extremely_ serious advisement."  
  
"Excellent," Rûmaz proclaimed once more.  "There aren't that many of us, and we certainly can't afford those of us who have attained some sort of power to be deposed."  
  
I raised an eyebrow at that.  "Are you simply referring to the four of us--ourselves and our apprentices--or are you suggesting there are _more_ who share our heresy?"  
  
"There aren't many of us," Rûmaz replied, "as you might imagine.  Not with the Sphere of Sith Philosophy constantly hunting down any who deviate from the standard interpretation of the Sith Code.  Who are seen as polluting the Sith Order with Jedi ideals.  No offense, Apprentice Zavros."  
  
"None taken," said my beloved.  
  
The Sith Pureblood continued.  "I also have a strong suspicion that there are others who never survived the Academy, or whatever other tasks they were thrown into.  Add to that, the misconception that the only way to draw upon anything but the dark passions requires defecting to the Jedi...the end result is, there are few of us who remain Sith, who remain with the Empire, and seek to change things from within in some way that is still true to who we are.  But yes, Imperius.  There _are_ others.  Jaesa has made it her mission to use her unique skills to track them down and keep them out of Aruk's sights, wherever she can."  
  
Lieutenant Quinn spoke up here.  "Do forgive us, my lord, for not disclosing names and sources, but that is something I have insisted on, as part of my role in assisting the Emperor's Wrath with information security.  The best way to thwart any espionage efforts is to maintain at least _some_ form of compartmentalization of secrets.  We keep things from you--and we fully expect the same towards us in return.  If one member of a network is compromised, the fewer of his comrades he has the ability to contact directly, the harder it is for counterintelligence operatives to roll up the entire network."  
  
"'Counterintelligence'?" I questioned.  "I don't know about anyone else, but I don't envision my role as one of sabotaging the Empire or handing it over to its enemies.  I have no love for the idea of being absorbed into the Republic, and _certainly_ none for being forced to choose between death or surrendering my will to the Jedi."  
  
"An imprecise choice of words on my part," Quinn conceded, "seeing as our counterintelligence services would only _believe_ us to be the Empire's enemy.  But the tactics they would use against us are the same as those they have employed against Republic and Jedi spies, so I believe the comparison still serves."  
  
I nodded, accepting this.  "There is one thing I must know, though.  My own sources have yet to indicate an immediate threat, but based on what Jaesa detected from me on Dromund Kaas, do you have any reason to believe that Ashara and I are in danger?  For that matter, what about you?  You mentioned that there is some difficulty involved with trying to discern my alignment in the Force, but am I putting Ashara at risk to bring her around other Sith?"  
  
Rûmaz smiled.  "Fortunately, as far as I know, there hasn't been any more suspicion towards you than there would be towards anyone who took on a former Jedi as an apprentice.  And the majority are content to judge based on what they see on the surface--the Jedi conceive any sort of break with their order as treason and a sign of Darkness.  Considering the anathema under which your ancestors...and some of mine, for that matter...were driven from the Jedi, many Sith blindly accept the same narrative without looking too deep.  And from what Jaesa has told me about her gift, the Light can be more difficult to detect within the Force than the Dark.  That's the same reason that so many of us associate the Light with weakness.  Murder, mass casualties, betrayal, suffering--those tend to garner far more attention in the Force."  
  
"Not unlike how they do in the news, or in an ordinary man's mind," Lieutenant Quinn observed.  "There seems to be some sort of universal commonality there."  
  
"There _is_ a universal commonality," Ashara interjected.  "Sorry to be blunt, but the idea that there isn't is a common _Sith_ misconception.  Just because someone doesn't have the ability to act in the Force doesn't mean that they're divorced from it.  The things that people like Talos and Lieutenant Quinn do are just as real as anything a Jedi or a Sith does.  And they have an effect.  There's Light and Dark for non-Force-sensitives too, just like there is for us."  
  
Talos pondered this with his keen intellect.  "From a more scientific perspective, I suppose what you're describing is something of a universal _constant_ , rather than just a commonality.  Something more in line with gravity, or the speed of light, that _all_ of us must contend with."  
  
My beloved favored her unofficial brother-in-law with a smile.  "That's a great way to describe it.  So as far as the Jedi are concerned, Lieutenant Quinn, you're absolutely right.  My old masters always said that the nature of the Dark Side of the Force is to attack and to claim attention for itself.  It can be hidden, but its nature is to eventually claw its way out.  The Light's nature is patience and humility, not to call attention to itself for its own sake.  It doesn't always make itself immediately known; it has to be deliberately sought out and followed.  I've come to see over time that that's a bit oversimplified.  And that maybe the Jedi and the Sith don't always understand what Light and Dark really are.  But still, I think that still has a little bearing on what Rûmaz is saying."  
  
"After a fashion," the Sith Pureblood agreed, "it does.  Jaesa has come to accept a form of Sith philosophy, but from what she's told me about the things she perceives, part of the reason Aruk and his like haven't been able to root out all of the heretics over the centuries is that the Light takes a deliberate effort to sort out from amidst the Darkness--especially when one does not believe in it."  
  
_Especially when one does not believe in it_.  It wasn't hard to see, in that light, why Khem Val and Andronikos Revel had been so quick to fill the Dark into the gap between me and their abilities to deduce who I truly was.  To begin by assuming me honorless and capricious.  This held _especially_ true for Khem, who still seemed to believe my acts in the Light an exercise in folly.  I found myself wondering--though I still had no wish to say it to his face--whether perhaps he had inferred to me those very things he had witnessed in Tulak Hord or even my own ancestor, Aloysius Kallig, before his death.  
  
"So you still believe that offers Ashara and me some measure of protection?" I asked.  
  
Rûmaz nodded.  "The things I've seen _strongly_ lead me to believe that.  But you _must_ take care, Imperius.  We have survived thus far, but there's no guarantee on that."  
  
"Indeed not," I replied in echo of my own reflections.  I looked over to Ashara, seeking some final note of reassurance.  It was time, I discerned, for me to convey to the Emperor's Wrath the message I had for _him_...the one from Lord Aloysius.  "And to that end...Rûmaz, there is something of a somewhat delicate nature that I need to relay to you.  A sign of potential trouble that my own sources have brought me.  As to what sources...I'm afraid I must take the option Lieutenant Quinn referred to.  It might endanger them were the wrong people to find out."  Truthfully, I had a strange, wordless sense from the three spirits that had returned to me, that their redemption had provided them with an extraordinary measure of protection they had lacked prior.  But my knowledge had its limits.  And my care for them required my vigilance.  "And _all_ of you--" My eyes flitted from Quinn to Vette.  "This is spoken in the utmost confidence, and requires your absolute secrecy unless the worst should be imminent."  
  
"Aye-aye, sir," Vette snappily replied...her tone light, yes--but her lekku were frozen absolutely still in what I took as a gesture of solemnity.  
  
I had the feeling Lieutenant Quinn would have bowed if he hadn't already been sitting.  "I swear it upon my life, my lord," he declared, "and if I should fail, I give the Emperor's Wrath my free leave to claim it."  
  
I searched Rûmaz' countenance for some sort of hint as to _what_ exactly was going on with Malavai Quinn.  There was nothing unusual about what the man was saying--or at least, there _wouldn't_ be anything unusual with the majority of Sith Lords.  But with all I had seen and heard from Rûmaz, to include his easy relationship with his Twi'lek wife Vette, I found it hard to imagine exactly where this behavior on Quinn's part had originated.  Ordinarily I would have attributed such words to fear.  But what I had managed to discern from Quinn's tone and features...it _wasn't_ fear.  It was something else.  The fact that Lord Aloysius had walked invisibly among them and had not pointed to Quinn as the potential threat among this warrior's crew gave me some sort of assurance--my ancestor had proven himself most perceptive where Zash and Thanaton were concerned.  
  
Still...that didn't stop this moment, whatever it was, from being _awkward_.  
  
Thankfully, Rûmaz broke the strangely soulful sort of tension that had settled upon the room.  "If you exercise that discipline of yours, Lieutenant, I _very_ strongly doubt that would ever be even remotely necessary."  
  
"I thank you for your confidence, my lord."  This time Quinn really did bow his head.  
  
"Don't mention it," said Rûmaz...a bit literally, I suspected.  "Now--Lord Imperius, what is it that concerns you?"  
  
"I realize how odd this may sound, especially in light of the work she's been doing for you, and the warning you were considerate enough to bring me," I began, interlacing my fingers as I spoke, "but I'm afraid this concerns Apprentice Willsaam."  
  
Rûmaz went motionless, his features mostly impassive--but he hadn't been able to hide the slightest nod of the head.  There was _some_ surprise, it seemed...but _only_ some.  "Go on," Rûmaz urged.  
  
"From what my sources have told me--"  And by this I meant Lord Aloysius.  "--there are some particularly concerning ramifications to a gift like hers, and I don't simply mean the risks inherent in the sort of searches she's carrying out on your behalf.  A mind like hers, that is bombarded with such extraordinary and stark detail about the people around her--it desperately craves some sort of stability and sense.  I understand she came from Alderaan.  I found _very_ little of either of those commodities during my time there.  Not a promising start, in my opinion.    
  
"And then there are the Jedi.  Such a horrifyingly regimented, cult-like sort of existence--even Darth Palladius had more mercy on the Cult of the Screaming Blade, before I broke his control over them and started them on the process of getting their minds back.  At least Palladius allowed people to form natural relationships within the cult, even if he _did_ do as the Jedi did when it came to contact with their families on the outside.  One of the first rules I _ended_ as soon as I had that bastard dead," I couldn't help adding.  "I have seen what that sort of control does to an ordinary person.  But for someone like your apprentice, who so desperately needs a strong sense of who _she_ is, and a true, inner knowledge of what right and wrong are, to be taught such complete and utter reliance on her Jedi masters...that creates a very dangerous sort of fragility."  
  
Now Rûmaz could no longer help but overtly concur.  "Jaesa got the worst of it, for sure.  Her master was the most self-absorbed, singlemindedly fanatical, prideful Jedi I ever had the misfortune of encountering.  Nomen Karr deliberately groomed her to revere him.  Oh, he said it was the Jedi Order, the Jedi Code, but that turned out to be a paper-thin disguise.  Turned out he was as Dark as any of us can be, to the point that he had literally been hiding his true face with the Force.  When the truth came out...it completely shattered her."  
  
"And what happens," I asked, giving a living voice to the words of Lord Aloysius, "if at some point you should be pushed into some circumstance that causes her to become disillusioned with _you_?  For someone so malleable, that could well cause her entire system of belief to be rewritten in an instant."  I turned to my beloved and apprentice, slipping a pale hand over her vibrant coral-hued one under the table.  "One of the things I respect the most about Ashara is her willingness to challenge my convictions at the same time she has challenged her own.  She could have chosen to become a victim of circumstance, but she didn't.  Even when we don't see eye-to-eye...even on things each of us holds dear...she wouldn't be the woman I love if she just surrendered it all for no other reason but to satisfy me."  
  
_Even though sometimes_ , I thought to myself, _it truly hurts._  
  
"I'm not saying that to imply that your apprentice is any less of a person," I temporized, in some sort of conclusion.  "But it's certainly cause to exercise great caution.  The consequences of something going wrong...for her, and for _all_ of us who share in this heresy...could be devastating."  
  
"I suppose I'd best not ask about your sources," the Sith Pureblood commented, half to himself.  "They're a bit _too_ on-the-nose, if you ask me.  But you've certainly given me much to consider."  
  
Ashara spoke up.  "We're not saying you should give up on Jaesa.  I mean, she deserves a _lot_ better than what it sounds like she got from Master Karr.  I have a feeling what that man taught wasn't all the way in line with the Jedi Code.  But I might still be able to give you some insight on what the...um...'standard' Jedi training regimen looks like, if you think that might help you understand where she's coming from."  
  
Rûmaz lit up at that offer, finally cracking the smile that his face had started to seem awfully lonely without.  "I'd certainly appreciate the insights.  I certainly have some questions I would like to send your way."  
  
"If I may," Lieutenant Quinn suggested, "for security purposes, I recommend your correspondence be phrased in terms of how you might seek to break a Jedi.  Or some 'misguided' Sith who got it in her head to go rogue.  If someone were to intercept and decrypt your communications--something that my analysis suggests would be a high priority given your station and that of Darth Imperius--I believe they would find that to be a more palatable sort of content."  
  
"That is really quite a splendid idea, Lieutenant."  Rûmaz' grin broadened into what I suppose he considered his imitation of an evil leer.  Granted, when it came to Purebloods it wasn't hard to misread _any_ sort of smile in that way if one didn't know them well, but I, at least, was not exactly convinced.  
  
"Yeah, it's pretty devious," Vette piped up.  "Much as it pains me to admit it, I've gotta hand it to you, Quinn--that's a really good one."  
  
The Imperial officer sat up just a little bit straighter.  "Ah, at last...credit where credit is due."  Though was it me, or was the man finally, _finally_ allowing just the faintest shadow of a smile to tug at the corners of his lips?  
  
"There is certainly a great deal of historical correspondence along those lines," Talos contributed--also formal in his own way, but far more professorial than uptight.  "In fact, I'm currently in the process of cataloguing all of the literature accessible to me in Thanaton's library.  I can certainly find some references to...ah... _embellish_ your advice with, Ashara.  I don't promise pleasant reading, of course.  But I'm sure I can find some choice remarks for you to use--complete with proper sourcing and attribution, of course.  Can't have our enemies exposing us with false citations."    
  
'Conceptual soldiering,' Talos had called it once--the idea had rather baffled me when I first took him onto my crew, but the longer I'd watched my brother work, the more I'd come to understand the very serious business he was involved in, weaving the narrative by which we understood our very selves, and upon which we built our future.  This was certainly one of those instances.  In this case, though, while he tried to put a cheerier light on it, I had the distinct feeling Talos wasn't exactly looking forward to his research.  Or having to share his, shall we say, biased results with his de facto sister-in-law.  
  
Ashara offered a wan smile--but sincere.  That I could sense as with few of the living.  "Thanks, Talos."  
  
"Honored to serve," the archaeologist replied, with far greater warmth than I had heard from Malavai Quinn.  
  
"Then it seems we have an agreement," Rûmaz concluded.  Except he did not rise from his seat.  Instead, he fell into an uncharacteristic, brooding silence as his crimson eyes locked upon me.  
  
"Is there something else I can do?" I asked the Emperor's Wrath.  There was something truly odd about the look that Rûmaz wore now.  Distant.  Wistful, almost.  
  
Rûmaz' eyes darted off to the side for a moment, then bored deep once more into mine.  "No...there's nothing you can do," he replied.  "It's rather...an observation.  It's odd--how much you remind me of someone I lost a long time ago.  One of my brothers...his name was Ikharail.  The resemblance isn't physical, exactly...the whole species thing kind of gets in the way."    
  
Rûmaz cracked a quick smile at that, but seemed to fall back into the world of his memories in short order, especially when I said, "Your brother?  If you don't mind my asking, where _do_ you see the resemblance?"  
  
"I could say it's the way you carry yourself.  But that doesn't entirely work either.  The great lot of the memories I have...my brother was physically crippled to at least some degree for as long as I can remember, so the resemblance there wouldn't be immediately apparent.  Not if you weren't paying very close attention."    
  
"Pardon me if this is a misunderstanding on my part," I said as deferentially as I could manage, "but I would assume he was involved in some sort of accident?"  But even that didn't make complete sense, unless Ikharail had gone into rejection with the cybernetics that should have restored him.  It was the only option that fit with what I thought I knew of the Purebloods though--for those born sick or deformed were exposed to the elements unless there were an immediate read on them that suggested extraordinary Force sensitivity.  Even an ill child sometimes received no medicine if the parents harbored doubts about the child's strength, and was allowed to perish if they were unable to defeat what ailed them.  Injuries--combat wounds--those sometimes received more leeway, as marks of honor.  
  
"Oh, believe me, Imperius," Rûmaz growled with a fury that...frankly, for someone who bore the title of Wrath, seemed to take quite a bit to provoke.  " _It was no accident._  And my 'father,' miserable cur of a gene donor that he was, very much believed in the old ways to the hilt.  And those old ways are very much what you think they are.  Except that the old bastard--Qiqshul--he _had use_ for Ikharail as he was.  As he _made_ him."  
  
Before I could catch myself, the words slipped out of my mouth: "There is no noose like the one made out of family ties, now is there?"  Even the inflection was not my own, not entirely.  I realized to my shame that the words had been Darth Andru's.  He no longer lived in my mind but clearly something of the nightmares he had assailed me with remained.  "That was not _my_ experience," I hastily clarified.  "But I've known a Sith or two for whom it _very_ much was.  
  
"It would be easier to comprehend were it some sort of revenge," Rûmaz said.  "And the irony of it was, I believe Ikharail would have easily surpassed Qiqshul.  And very possibly me.  But he never had the chance.  He contracted a genetic illness--a wasting one."  
  
"'Contracted'?"  I raised an eyebrow.  Rûmaz made it sound like a contagious disease, but as far as I knew, one was _born_ with genetic code, not given a new one afterwards.  Seeing the hard set of Rûmaz' jaw at the question, I apologized.  "I don't mean to sound skeptical.  Or intrusive.  I'm simply a touch confused."  
  
Rûmaz shook his head.  "No, no--that's not it.  It's not you.  It's what Qiqshul _did_.  My brother very much _contracted_ a _genetic_ illness.   And that was Lord Qiqshul's doing.  My _father_ ," the Sith Pureblood snarled, "such as he was, sickened my brother.  And others of my siblings."  
  
I had seen many horrid things brought to pass by other Lords of the Sith...not in the least the atrocities of Lord Grathan, who had thought nothing of turning Imperial soldiers into nearly mindless cybernetic slaves.  But even Grathan, from what I'd heard, hadn't had the sheer gall to put his own child under the knife.  And what had been done to me as a slave had been done by others.  Not my own kin.  I simply could not fathom that level of betrayal.  "That is absolutely _repugnant_.  What in all the stars of the galaxy could have ever possessed him to attempt such a thing?"  
  
"The Dark Side of the Force," Ashara muttered to herself, rightly revolted.  
  
To his credit, Rûmaz did not rebuke her for the simplicity of her declaration.  "I am sure that had a great deal to do with it," he replied instead.  "Even the love of his own flesh and blood was apparently too Light of a concept for him.  And yet I cannot think of a better word for him than _dispassionate_.  It would be easiest to say he was barking mad, except it takes a truly perverse sort of rationality to perform _experiments_ on your own children to the point of killing half the lot!  But Lord Imperius," Rûmaz continued, turning his gaze back to me, "needless to say, Ikharail was _nothing_ like Qiqshul.  So do rest assured that is _not_ the sort of comparison I'm making."  
  
"I didn't believe it was," I replied.  
  
"I think it's your manner towards people, when you have the chance to speak what you truly feel," Rûmaz decided.  "Thoughtful...attentive...gentle-mannered...those were some of the things that defined who Ikharail was.  I suppose that was the one 'advantage' of being thrown away as a failed experiment.  So long as Ikharail wasn't disgracing Qiqshul by existing out in public--and that beast made sure it didn't happen once Ikharail's muscles wasted too much for him to walk--Qiqshul didn't particularly care what was going on inside Ikharail's head.  Ikharail was only worth the data he could give him for refining his _other_ subjects.  Only worth watching to see how long it took him to die, and what would eventually kill him.  So Qiqshul didn't even bother to notice that Ikharail had started manipulating parts of the Force that are supposed to be closed to Sith, to try and make the best of his lot."  
  
"Ohhh..."  Realization dawned on me.  Rûmaz must not have been the first of the madman Qiqshul's offspring to make contact with the Light.  "Ikharail _taught_ you...?"  
  
That brought a smile to the Sith Pureblood's face as he nodded--bittersweet, but utterly sincere.  "He did.  He was determined to pass on what he'd learnt before he died.  Hm--it's ironic," Rûmaz commented.  "I never thought of it before now, but Ikharail had his own experiment of sorts.  No one ever taught him what he figured out about the Force.  He had to discover it all on his own.  It's almost like he'd learnt _that_ idea from Lord Qiqshul...the exploration and the experimentation...and turned it around on its head.    
  
"You see, there were two of us that Qiqshul _never_ experimented on.  'Control subjects,' as it were.  I was one of them.  I don't know why.  My youngest sister was the other.  Just imagine what it was like for Ikharail, to see the two of us run around without ever having to be injected and measured and wondering if we'd be made prisoner and _destroyed_ in our own homes.  It was horrid enough for me, wondering why I'd been singled out.  Bloody hell, I still wonder _that_ to this very day.  And I don't know if I would've ever had the strength to do what Ikharail did, in his position.  He said it was a decision he made, that started it.  That when he decided to stop... _resenting_ me and my sister...and to just try and be a big brother an be there for us however he could, that he would actually feel a bit stronger for a time."  
  
"He _had_ to have found Light," I said.  "And...perhaps he shared it with you."  
  
Rûmaz nodded.  "He did.  Ikharail never had the vocabulary for it; he never went to the Academy, and Qiqshul pulled him out of school not long after that.  I didn't understand until I was older, what it was he'd found.  Qiqshul damaged his genetic code the most...yet he lived the longest of all the ones the experiments eventually killed.  That cannot be a coincidence.  Still...his body ultimately did give out.  It should have been Ikharail who went on to the Academy.  Not me.  Ikharail found the Light, all on his own.  I had to be taught.  There's a difference there...a stark one.  
  
"And I nearly forgot what Ikharail taught me over the years, once I went to the Sith Academy.  At least I did until my last Overseer put three people's lives in my hands, for me to preside over them in judgment.  They were prisoners of the Empire.  Yet there was just something about seeing these people that I had this absolute, unquestioned ability and right to destroy, that struck home with me in a way nothing had in a long time.  My Overseer had told me to follow my passions in my judgments, so I did.  All of them.  One of the prisoners was innocent--and that woke the old passion in me, the one I'd learnt before I went to the Academy.  So I freed him.  I had to defend that decision before my Overseer.  I learnt that I had to be more careful about what I did, when I made a decision like that, to hide it or rationalize it somehow...like you've done, Lord Imperius.  But I also learnt that I _did_ still have the strength to make those decisions.  To control my own fate."  
  
I finally said what I had been thinking for nearly the entire conversation--in fact, all the way back to the moment in my meditation chamber aboard the _Fury_ when Lord Aloysius first told me that he believed Rûmaz had turned heretic of the Light.  "And yet the Emperor selected you as his Wrath.  Have you any concern that he's detected what you are?  Or that he intends to suborn your will and turn you into one of his mind-slaves?"  
  
Rûmaz' lips tightened into a thin line as he nodded.  "I have thought about it, Imperius.  Many times.  What defines the Emperor's Wrath, out of all of the Emperor's servants--what's _supposed_ to define him, anyway--is his very autonomy.  The Wrath is supposed to have complete, unfettered discretion in how he completes his missions.  I am assigned my tasks--I deliver results.  So long as I continue doing so, my methods are supposed to remain unquestioned.  And the Emperor's Hands have said that the Emperor has no wish to alter that arrangement.  If something happens--if I fail him severely enough--then my only real choices are to hide, or take my own life, to keep the people who have entrusted their secrets to me alive.  Make no mistake, I _want_ to live.  But if I'm forced, I'll not allow anyone else to go down with me.    
  
"And that includes you, Lord Imperius.  I've seen enough by now, of you and the people with you, to believe that what Jaesa felt that night was not an aberration.  I don't know what it is you've done to make yourself so elusive in the Force, but whatever it is, it's clear to me that you've done what you had to, to keep yourself in the fight."  I resisted the temptation to correct Rûmaz--for my Force presence had been entangled with that of the dead since the moment I came into the world.  Even with all I had learnt of who the Emperor's Wrath was beneath the mask he wore on business, I could hear what Rûmaz' tactician Quinn would say: information security first and foremost.  'Cousin' though Rûmaz might be, that secret would have to remain with immediate family alone.  "And," the Wrath concluded, "I will make sure I am not the cause of your defeat."  
  
"I'm honored by that," I replied.  And then I smiled, meeting Rûmaz' eyes.  "And I think Ikharail would be as well.  Whatever you've gone through to get here, you _are_ here.  I believe he would be proud."  
  
Rûmaz' crimson eyes dropped down to the table.  He closed them for a second, drawing in a deep, steadying breath.  Then he looked back up at me.  "I want to hope so.  Very much.  I suppose it wouldn't hurt to make one final request of you, Imperius."  
  
I nodded.  "Go on."  
  
I had a feeling what that gaze meant--the one that seemed to try to pierce the veil to the realm where part of my own soul already resided, and that the whole of me would eventually call home someday.  "If you should ever see my brother," Rûmaz said, "I would very much like to know."  
  
"The ones who manifest visibly to the living--even to me," I told him, "were all highly trained in life.  I would never want to say with certainty that there can't be an exception for someone self-taught...I may be the 'Master of the Dead,' but there will always be mysteries for me.  What I _can_ say is that I am told by someone for whom I have absolute trust, that for someone not to manifest means _only_ that.  Only that they are not seen.  Not that they _are not_.  I wish I could give you something more substantial than that, but I do believe you'll see him again."  
  
"Until then," Rûmaz declared as he rose to his feet, "I'll do all I can to honor him."  
  
"For whatever it's worth," I told him by way of parting, "I believe you already are."

**Author's Note:**

>  **Soundtrack:** ["The Vigilant"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2jLdZHgwRQ) by Inon Zur, ["Into Darkness"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SxThZpslbhE) by Thomas Bergersen, ["Live On Forever"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9WEj6uLgmM) by The Afters, ["Who We Are"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olvWiDNp-Fg) by RED


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